


These Things We Do

by hotrodngold (Krystalicekitsu)



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom, due South
Genre: Crossover, Fuckbuddies, M/M, Multi, Other, Pining, Rough Sex, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-26
Updated: 2012-03-26
Packaged: 2017-11-02 13:15:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krystalicekitsu/pseuds/hotrodngold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser hadn't expected Erik's call. Not that he minds.</p><p>They're both drowning, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [polythenepacket](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=polythenepacket), [gwaeren](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=gwaeren).



Erik groans, hands slipping on Fraser's hips as he shoves inside. 

Underneath him, the Mountie gasps and twists, one hand slapping against the wall before collapsing at the elbow, forehead rolling against the cheesy wallpaper. Half a beat, another forceful thrust, and the other hand is scrambling at Erik's hip, twisting and pulling against the slacks that had, somehow, managed to stay mostly on. When fingers finally dig into bared skin, Erik growls, ripping and tearing at the flannel shirt he'd partially unbuttoned earlier.

Fraser is making breathless ' _ah, ah, ah_ ' noises with each of his thrusts, spine bowing back, head arched. Erik leans down and buries his teeth along the line of powerful shoulders, hands seeking out nipples and tugging, twisting, dragging more breathless pants and moans into the charged air between them. Just a little more.

Erik cants his hips, reaches down, tilts Fraser's up further, increasing the pressure on his cock with the natural compression from the position, moaning as the walls around his dick shudder and shiver. 

God.

Fraser shoves back against him, one hand reaching down and between, shoulders flexing and-

Fraser keens when he comes, high and tight, a word, a name called out with such longing, it nearly breaks Erik in sympathetic pain, but he shoves the emotion down, swallows it back and tenses, head back as he fills the condom, biting his lips bloody to avoid his own plea of heartbreak and desire.

They both lay there, collapsed in the old bathroom in the B&B. After a few minutes, Erik peels himself from Fraser's back with a wordless rub and disposes of the condom. 

He waits as Fraser cleans himself up in the sink, dressed and wordless by the locked door. Next time it will be Fraser by the door while he tries to wipe off lube with toilet paper and hide the disorder of his hair.

"Next time," Erik says, the ritual complete as Fraser steps up to him, fiddling with a loose button on his collar.

"Next time," Fraser agrees.

They step out the door together.


	2. Chapter 2

Fraser hadn't expected Erik's call.

Not that he ever knew, exactly, when the German would call, just as Erik could never anticipate when watching Ray fall over an ex-wife who hated him would break down his carefully maintained walls. It just happened.

But usually... Usually the turning events of the world, splashed large and ugly over the news media, kept the calls away. Usually, Benton thought, Erik was the cause of them.

But this call he hadn't been expecting; the large, anticlimactic clash of superpowers just a fortnight ago would've usually meant he had a few months before Erik's call. Usually, Erik only called when it was quiet.

'Usually', but apparently not always.

"Constable Benton Fraser, Royal-"

"Constable."

Benton glanced down at his desk, turning aside slightly, shielding his face from Turnbull's inquisitive eye. This was one thing he didn't want to touch the rest of his life. Not at all. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip.

"Yes?"

"I-..." There was a long pause. If he concentrated, Fraser could swear he could hear a hitch, an unsteadiness in Erik's breathing. "Tomorrow night."

The commanding, forceful, confidant tone was back, but Benton hesitated. "I'm afraid..."

"Fraser."

Benton closed his eyes.

"Six PM. I can only give you two hours."

"I only need one."

They both hung up and Fraser paused to take a deep breath, to steady himself, to take a moment away from Turnbull's still-prying eyes.

He picked up the phone and dialed Ray. He had a hunch he wouldn't be able to make the stake out after all.


	3. Chapter 3

The Mountie is late.

No, not _late_ , but not his usual, early self. Not sitting on the bed when Erik arrives five minutes to the hour. Polite enough not to make Erik wait for him, to make Erik think. Polite in the same quiet, mild-mannered way that Charles was. Considerate.

Erik doesn't want to think. He doesn't know what to, now that he has the time to. Now that he can.

And every time he tries, Erik wants to shoot something. He's been wanting to shoot something for three days, only now he thinks he might want to shoot himself. Only, this isn’t a new thought either. Three hours after the cluster-fuck in Cuba, he’d wanted to take it all back. A day after, he was wishing he’d listened to frantic pleas. Three days after the fact, he’s moved past denial and bargaining and into acceptance.

If acceptance is supposed to feel like seven inches of steel digging through his chest and hollowing out his insides.

The motel room door swings open and Erik turns on his heel, dropping his arms from cradling his chest in what he hopes is a natural movement. But it doesn’t really matter because Fraser is barely through the door, gently tossing his pack into the empty spot beside Erik’s pack, next to the rickety, lone wicker chair

Fraser is in jeans and flannel again- like last time, like always- and Erik takes a moment to admire how those legs move wrapped in denim before he moves forward, chest brushing against Fraser’s.

“I apologize, if I’m-” he starts, but Erik cuts him off, leaning forward so he can press the door behind Fraser shut with his fingertips.

“It’s fine,” Erik says, low and quiet, and it is. He doesn’t care, because Fraser is here and for a short 60 minutes, he can forget everything that brought him here. He can fuck his heart- and his emotions- back into submission, along with the persistent feeling he'd made a very big mistake.

He leads Fraser to the bed with a hand under his elbow, thumb pressing into the pulse point to forestall any protest or hesitance.

“Understood.” Fraser goes easily, offering up no resistance even when Erik shoves him back and starts stripping him.

“Erik-”

“After,” Erik growls, tossing aside the flannel before reaching down and snapping the eyelets off his boots.

“Erik-”

He spins Fraser over, unwilling to talk, and the delicious thing is that Fraser always comes prepared for everything. There are condoms and lube in the pockets of the jeans. He retrieves these before tossing the denim behind him unceremoniously. They can always find them later.

Much later, preferably, but Fraser had said only an hour, and if that’s all he’ll get, Erik’s going to make it count.

Fraser glances back over his shoulder, rising his upper body off the bed enough to glance meaningfully at the objects he’s clutching desperately.

“I believe it was my turn, Erik.”

Erik tries not to growl.

“Just- Give me- I need-”

Fraser’s eyes soften and Erik snarls at that even as Fraser says “Alright, Erik,” softly and settles back to the bed. Fraser shifts underneath him, a wiggling sort of shimmy, and then he has his knees under him, and then a pillow under his hips, doubled over.

Damn Mounties.

But Erik knows in invitation, and even the pity and sympathy in those eyes wasn’t enough to deter him from this. If he could truly never have Charles now, he wasn’t going to take a single damnable thing for granted again.


	4. Chapter 4

One of Erik's favorite things is biting. 

Fraser doesn't particularly care for it, but its not part of their arrangement for him to care for it. When its Fraser's turn, he gets to do what he pleases. And when its Erik's turn, his only job to shut up and moan.

Erik loves to sink his teeth into Fraser's ass, to drag his teeth along the dimples in the top and watch the body beneath him squirm. He'll take a mouthful and hold it there, hardly any pressure, until Fraser is tense and uncertain, waiting and yet unsure when exactly the bite will come. And then, just when Fraser starts to release the taughtness of his shoulders, or perhaps when he's worked up and shifting, Erik will clench his jaw. He'll clench and hold and bite, ignoring even as he savors that first pained gasp. 

The tightness in his voice is never as sweet as that first pained sound.

Pain doesn't do anything for Fraser, though. If Erik wants to see Fraser sex-rumpled, kiss-drunk, and fucked stupid, he has to wait. He has to hold in his impulse until later. 

Fraser won't protest nibbles on his neck when Erik fucks him through the mattress, or the accidental bite when Erik's body tenses and jerks his way through his release.

If he wants to get Fraser there, he does it with his fingers. Fingers pressing in and against and tugging and stroking. Fingers pulling hair or wrapping around balls or pulling on his dick. Fingers stroking into the heat of his ass. 

Then Fraser will dance.


End file.
